


You can never hold back spring

by vaguely_concerned



Series: Scoundrels and Thieves 'verse [34]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Hey how are you here's a story about hope, M/M, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26196736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguely_concerned/pseuds/vaguely_concerned
Summary: A hard night, and the morning after Bend Down the Branches.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Series: Scoundrels and Thieves 'verse [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/523720
Comments: 27
Kudos: 71





	You can never hold back spring

_Then_

He just couldn’t fucking sleep.

Rhythmically, with great feeling, Jesse hit the back of his head against the pillow, which was a ratty affair that would have caused any self respecting goose embarrassment by association. It was a pillow haunted by the ghosts of the backs of a thousand other people’s heads. 

Someone who had obviously not had any problems hitting up Mr. Sandman was snoring loudly somewhere nearby. Jesse sighed, turning over on his side to face the wall and folding the pillow over his head. Damn, he couldn’t _wait_ until they left the base to go on the mission, at least he’d get his own fucking hotel room to be miserable in instead of listening to everyone else sawing logs like the goddamn Lumberjack World Championship.

He didn’t usually have trouble falling asleep — had, in fact, creeped even Reyes out more than once with his ability to grab a nap anywhere short of directly on top of a live grenade. And yet here he was, at half past four in the morning, staring into the darkness and wishing for a swift boot to the head just to finally escape consciousness for a while.

Flopping onto his back again Jesse threw an arm over his eyes and then, when that did not magically resolve his vague yet all-encompassing discomfort within a couple of minutes, wriggled over to his other side, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as he glared into the darkness. He supposed the boss wouldn’t look too kindly on him getting up in the middle of the night before a mission to drink himself to sleep, and besides his private stores of bourbon — smuggled into the base by less than above board means but quietly if exasperatedly accepted so long as he kept it to himself and didn’t make trouble — were running low anyway; no guarantee there was enough left to even do the job. Well, come on, there had to be _something_ to do, other than stare at the wall and long for death. 

The last time he’d felt like this, the only thing that had really helped had been… 

The feeling came over him all at once, like someone in a dark alley stepping up to shove a knife between his ribs, because it hadn’t been a matter of some _thing_ at all. 

He did his best not to think about it, usually, because he knew if he did — if he allowed himself to really let it in, made room for it in his chest — it would hurt and hurt until something either faded or broke and he didn’t want either. But he was cold and cranky and just close enough to actually falling asleep that he could claim plausible deniability on consciousness later, so he closed his eyes and called up the feeling of someone next to him on the bed. ( _This bunk is barely big enough for you, never mind with him there too,_ pointed out a small voice in the back of his head. _Shut the fuck up,_ he told it.)

Soft hair brushing his shoulder, the particular way he shifted in his sleep, with that small half-awake sound he’d make as Jesse rested his arm over his waist and pulled him close so he could kiss the back of his neck. 

Jesse furtively put his hand flat on the bed, trying to imagine that it was warm skin under his palm, calling up the feeling of gathering him in so close that he could feel him breathe against his chest. He searched for that feeling inside, the warmth and calm and… and safety that would finally, _finally_ let him drift off to sleep. 

One time — one of the last times, a scarce few months before everything had gone to hell — Jesse had woken to find Hanzo looking at him in the dimness of the hotel room, the only illumination an edge of gilt from the street lights outside the window. He’d smiled when he saw Jesse was awake, looping his arm over Jesse’s waist when Jesse had wriggled closer to him under the covers.

”You still up?” Jesse had asked, trying to bump his nose against Hanzo’s and mostly getting his cheek in sleepy imprecision; Hanzo didn’t seem to mind, from how he breathed a laugh and stroked his fingers through the hair at the nape of Jesse’s neck. “Everythin’ okay?”

”Yes, everything is fine. The jetlag, I suppose.”

Jesse grimaced. “Yeah, might be nice to stay in the same damn time zone for a month or so at some point. You could get up and do stuff if you wanna, I don’t mind.”

Hanzo had brushed Jesse’s hair out of his face with his fingers and shaken his head slightly. “I like this.”

There were a lot of things Jesse could have said to that, and most of them stuff he had no idea how to put into words — things his body knew in ways his brain couldn’t quite keep up with. The dark circles under Hanzo’s eyes kept growing darker and more bruise-like every time they met these days. Jesse carried an ember of disquiet burning away in his gut everywhere he went, like the sense he got sometimes right before a job was about to go south in a big way. He’d wondered more than once if his parents had somehow pissed off a witch or something while his mom was pregnant so that he’d been born cursed with the gift of foresight, but only for inevitable fuckups. Or maybe that was just good old run of the mill paranoia, it was always hard to tell.

He had blinked at what he could make out of Hanzo’s drawn face in the dark and known something was _wrong_ , in that creeping, insidious fashion of time and strain sending cracks through a load bearing structure until…

And Jesse didn’t know how to say or do anything about it that wouldn’t send it all crashing down even sooner.

Instead he had managed: “Yeah, I’m — me too. Same, this is nice,” and let himself get gathered in closer as Hanzo chuckled.

After a while Hanzo had said, very quietly: “I am tired.”

They lay entwined in the darkness like a pair of vines on the last day of summer, and Jesse had wished, like he’d never wished for anything before, that he knew how to grow into something that could still keep Hanzo upright when the frost came, something strong enough to support the cracking beams.

In the end he hadn’t done any of that, though. He’d just left him there, alone. 

Jesse’s throat felt tight; it seemed very difficult to breathe, suddenly. 

Before that night Jesse had thought… somehow he’d always thought there’d be time. Time to find the right words, as if they would simply wait patiently for him to stumble his way to them. Like they’d never run out of ‘next time’s.

He rubbed his face against the emaciated pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. This had been a bad idea.

_Never goddamn mind._

\---

_Now_

He doesn’t dare to open his eyes for a long time. 

There’s a warm weight all along his chest, someone on the other side of the bed, and Jesse’s body could tell you exactly who it is without _ever_ looking, would know him anywhere from touch alone, but he’s still scared that it’ll all go up in smoke on him at a single stolen glance.

When he finally builds up the courage to slide his eyes open he finds that the sun has barely started pouring into the room, the dawn beginning to tremble from paleness into gold. Well, if neither of them had had the presence of mind last night to close the curtains they could probably be forgiven, given the circumstances.

Slowly he lets his gaze travel from the window to where it wants to go. 

Dark hair spilling like ink over the pillow, cut shorter now than it had been back then, but it had still felt the same between Jesse’s fingers last night. The strong line of a shoulder under the rumpled covers, the curve of a cheekbone barely visible from this angle.

Hanzo sighs quietly in his sleep, huddling back closer against Jesse’s chest.

After a while Jesse pushes up on his elbow, just enough to get a better look without waking him. He looks so clearly outlined against the pillow, his profile sharp and more starkly real than anything Jesse’s ever seen. There’s an old ache in Jesse’s fingers that means to reach out and touch, the impulse slouching back into his nerves with such barefaced familiarity — like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like nothing ever changed, like it’s been only a few breaths since the last time. 

Jesse lies down again and gently presses his right hand flat against Hanzo’s chest to feel the warmth his left one can’t, gathering him in close enough that he can feel him breathe and staying very still.

Last night it hadn’t felt quite real yet, he realizes distantly, some old and scar-taught part of him still half expecting it to be just a particularly cruel dream and consequently bracing itself for the incoming blow.

It hadn’t prepared him for this.

Under his fingers Hanzo’s heart beats, the strong steady rhythm seemingly the only thing that keeps Jesse from breaking away from himself and drifting off into the sky. 

Finally Hanzo stirs. He turns his head a little and makes the grimace he always does waking up, a brief frown of mingled confusion and annoyance, like someone whose first impulse upon encountering consciousness again is demanding to see its manager, then his eyes slide open. He blinks a couple of times, looks down at Jesse’s hand resting on his chest before slowly taking it in his, twining their fingers together. After a while he turns over to look at Jesse with dark, soft eyes.

He smiles. 

(Jesse can’t think. He can’t breathe.) 

“Jesse.”

“Hey,” Jesse says, and his voice betrays him, on that ‘stabbed twenty-three times on the Senate floor’ sort of scale.

Hanzo reaches out to touch Jesse’s face, wiping the wetness away from his cheek with gentle fingers, and Jesse collapses into it, crumbling like some ancient war monument finally giving up the fight.

“I’m here,” Hanzo says hoarsely. He wraps his arms around Jesse and gathers him in close, hugs him tightly enough that Jesse feels safely anchored even as everything drifts unmoored inside him. “I am right here. I am not going anywhere.” 

“Yeah,” Jesse says, “yeah, you…” 

He clings to him gracelessly, probably holds on too hard but Hanzo doesn’t say anything, simply nuzzles down into his hair with a soft sound and waits until Jesse’s body decides it might be safe to ease the death grip just a little. 

Hanzo’s hand slides down to rest at the small of Jesse’s back and it’s such a familiar gesture, such a well-worn touch, that Jesse starts crying for real, low soft sobs wrenched out of him and muffled against Hanzo’s shoulder. It’s not painful, though, only feels peculiarly like finally freeing something very old and heavy that had been shackled to his sternum, and Hanzo holds him close, close against him all the while, murmuring soothing nonsense into his hair until he stops shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Jesse croaks out with a grin as he dries his eyes with the back of his hand, more out of old habit than because he has any notion an apology is needed. 

Hanzo snorts, and no man should be able to make scoffing sound so tender but there he is anyway. “Don’t be silly,” is all he says, looking suspiciously shiny-eyed himself. He brushes his lips over Jesse’s forehead, noses at his hairline. 

Jesse tucks his face into Hanzo’s chest and breathes in. He’s heard people say they never noticed their home had a particular smell until they stayed away for too long — it had never really made sense to him before. “Can’t help it, it’s just about half of my whole deal.”

With a resonant hum of laughter Hanzo kisses the top of Jesse’s head and squeezes him for a moment. “Oh well. Proceed at your discretion, then, I trust your judgement in this.”

Jesse lifts an eyebrow even though Hanzo can’t see his face. “Yeah?”

“You make it work for you,” Hanzo assures him, mingled amusement and affection still deepening his voice as he strokes Jesse’s hair.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Jesse says, sniffling the last remaining thickness from his speech.

“A statement that would alarm and concern me if I did not know it to be a brazen lie,” Hanzo says peaceably, his hand moving in meandering patterns over Jesse’s skin.

Jesse beams against Hanzo’s chest. “Awww shit, here’s me forgettin’ you actually know me.”

“Easy mistake to make.”

His chest is full of light; he needs to move, to do something with it before it overflows on him. Jesse leaves kiss after kiss on Hanzo’s skin, a small rainfall of tenderness falling over his neck, his shoulder, his collarbone, his face; he can’t bring himself to stop and Hanzo doesn’t ask him to, only laughs brokenly and turns his face into Jesse’s hair as he twines their legs together under the covers.

“I never,” Jesse says, fumbling for the words, “no one else has ever — I can’t… uh…”

“Sssh,” Hanzo laughs, cradling the nape of Jesse’s neck in his hand. “I have you.”

Jesse laughs too, the sound blooming irresistibly in his chest and putting down roots there like the best kind of weeds, like a dandelion that’ll grow straight through layers of concrete to reach the sun. He tries to kiss him but finds that neither of them can stop grinning for long enough, so instead he lets their foreheads rest together and brushes Hanzo’s nose with his own, smiling against his mouth like someone who’s pulled a long con on the gods and actually got away with it.

Finally they manage to meet in the middle, the kiss tender-bright and close, everything at once new and as familiar as breathing. 

When they’re eventually forced to pull back for breath they stare at each other for a while, giddy with the silence that comes from knowing there will be enough time for words later.

With his hair down and tumbling into his face Hanzo seems boyish, almost, more so than he ever had back when they met and he _was_ little more than a boy, really, now that Jesse looks back with eyes to see just how nakedly, heedlessly young they’d been, their individual decks stacked against them in such different yet equally desperate ways. He looks like a man unburdened, if only for a moment, like he has put down a crushing weight shouldered for decades to rest a while. Jesse feels the relief trickling through his own veins just watching him, the smile crinkling his eyes and softening the hard, severe lines of his face into openness.

Jesse grins back, defenseless, and looks at him and looks at him and looks at him, dizzy and wild and gentle with it. He wants to — wants — he doesn’t even know what he wants to do, except that it’s something reckless and crazy, like saving the world or telling someone the truth. 

Hey, why the hell not.

“I love you,” Jesse says, resting their foreheads together. “That’s what I meant to say.”

“And I love you,” Hanzo says, with his usual no-nonsense devotion. He twines his fingers with Jesse’s, the other way around this time, metal and skin sliding together and it looks… right, not strange and foreign and ungainly, like Jesse has half feared in his heart of hearts when considering all the ways he might no longer fit. Different, but still right. Huh. “I am starting to suspect that everything else is merely details.”

And no matter what else happens — in this one shining unshakable moment, that will always stay true.

Jesse swallows, and laughs again, and feels his heart settle right in his chest for the first time in years as he strokes his thumb along Hanzo’s eyebrow; Hanzo buries his free hand in Jesse’s hair and brings their mouths together again, soft with certainty, lips lingering on Jesse’s until his chest opens with the happiness like the horizon before a strange new dawn, boundless like the call of an open sky.

“I missed you so much,” Jesse breathes against his mouth, finally, _finally_ able to say it, and Hanzo kisses him like it’s spring’s reaching them at long last.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from what may actually be my favourite Tom Waits song.  
> I’ve been trying to finish this since around May 2017, and I always knew the ‘verse could never be whole without it, so I’m so glad I finally managed to capture it in some kind of publishable state! There’s at least one more similar story left to go, so, y’know uuuuh pray for me that it won't take as long again haha


End file.
